


Loaded Gun

by Cat2000



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23302249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat2000/pseuds/Cat2000
Summary: Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the television series Prodigal Son and I'm not making any money from this ficSummary: Tag to season one episode ten. Sequel to Importance Of Backup. Malcolm doesn't want Gil to be mad at him. And the last time his mentor spanked him, he slept better than he had since getting punched by Dani
Comments: 1
Kudos: 38





	Loaded Gun

**Author's Note:**

> Warning(s): Spanking; spoilers up to and including season one episode ten of Prodigal Son; references to violence and suicidal behaviour

The silence in the car was almost deafening. Malcolm stared out of the window and tried not to read Gil's body language. So far, the other man had been quiet about what had happened at the crime scene. And as much as Malcolm wished that his mentor and friend had forgotten about him holding a loaded gun to his own head...he reflected glumly that Gil likely hadn't. And it would be better on him if he confessed what he'd done wrong and faced the music.

“Are we going to my place?” The question slipped out of Malcolm before he thought about it.

Gil glanced sideways at him, even though he kept most of his attention on the road. “Not like there's much else we can do on the case right now,” he agreed. “And you could do with a nap too. And something to eat.”

“Last time you took me back to my apartment, I slept as well as I did after Dani punched me.” He didn't mention Gil taking him over his knee and blistering his ass, but he squirmed in his seat at the memory. Did he want a spanking? No. Did he need one? He was starting to think yes, if only because it would give him something else to focus on. And since his friend had mentioned getting some satisfaction from it the last time, he figured it would help Gil stop being mad at him.

“We go back to your apartment, I'll be turning you over my knee,” Gil warned. “What were you _thinking_ , kid? You pointed a _loaded gun_ at your head.” He shook his head. “I know you're suffering from all kinds of trauma, but that kind of behaviour is reckless. I know you handled guns when you worked with the FBI. You should know when one's loaded.”

“You know me, Gil,” Malcolm protested. “I was getting into the head of the killer.”

“No, kid. You were acting out the part of a suicide. _That's_ whose head you got into.” Gil's voice was calm and level, but sounded all the worse because of that. “When we get to your apartment, I'll put you in the corner. Cook you a meal. Message J.T. and Dani not to disturb us unless it's an emergency.”

There was something almost comforting about the promise of routine. Malcolm fell silent and watched the street and the people walking along it.

The two of them were silent as Gil pulled up and parked outside the apartment. Malcolm's stomach swam in anticipation as his mentor opened the door and got out of the car, moving round to the passenger side and opening the door.

Undoing his seatbelt, Malcolm swallowed and got out of the car. He walked over to the front door, unlocking it only when Gil joined him. He led the way towards the main room of his apartment, uncomfortably aware of his friend so close behind him, they could be touching if Malcolm moved back or Gil moved forward.

As he stood in the middle of the room, Malcolm felt Gil grasp his shoulder. Despite expecting it, anticipating it, he still tensed at the first smack to his backside to propel him towards the corner. Gil's grip on his shoulder kept him from rushing towards it, so by the time he was stood with his nose at the juncture of two walls, eight smacks had been delivered to his bottom.

This time, Malcolm didn't put his hands back to rub the sting out. He stared at the wall and listened to Gil moving around as he prepared food and sent a message to the rest of the team.

By the time Gil was leading him out of the corner, the sting had faded from his bottom, leaving behind a warmth that set his stomach twitching in anticipation of what was to come. He didn't comment on it, though, as Gil gently pushed him down onto the chair. He began to eat the stew, his mind working. Between mouthfuls, he asked, “You didn't put the belt over the couch this time? Does that mean I have a chance to talk you out of using it?”

“You won't be able to talk me out of giving you what you deserve, Malcolm,” Gil replied. “And when we've finished eating, we'll deal with the punishment. Then you'll go down for a nap.”

“And a hug too?” Malcolm couldn't keep the note of hope out of his voice.

A gentle smile tugged at the corners of Gil's mouth. “Yeah,” he agreed. “You'll get a hug too, kid.”

That was enough to make up for the spanking he was going to get. He still felt anticipation tingle through him, but it didn't affect his ability to eat the rest of the stew. When his bowl was empty, he put his spoon down and, looking up at Gil, commented, “I eat so much better when you cook for me.”

“Then I know what I'll be doing from now on.” Gil stood up and walked round the other side of the table. He gripped Malcolm's shoulder and pulled him up out of the chair before leading him over to the couch.

As he had the last time, Malcolm undid the button and zip on his pants. He breathed in deep as Gil sat down on the couch and let it out slowly as his mentor guided him down and across his lap.

Gil's lap was surprisingly comfortable. Malcolm didn't get turned on by pain; didn't find the idea of getting spanked erotic. But letting Gil take control? Put him in place across his knee and prepare to blister his butt for acting dangerously? There was something reassuring about the position. He spent his whole life needing to be in control, but he didn't need to claw back that control with Gil. With his friend. Mentor. The man he secretly wished would be his father.

Those thoughts dispersed as Gil tugged his pants down, leaving only the thin layer of his briefs protecting his bare bottom. Protecting his modesty. Taking another deep breath, he crossed his hands behind his back.

Gil's grip was firm and comforting as he grasped Malcolm's hand, pinning them against his back. And then he began to swat, firm and steady.

The smacks didn't hurt at first, although the accumulative effect did make his bottom start to sting. He breathed in and out, unable to help whining as Gil's hand moved a bit lower and began to swat his bare thighs.

“You don't point a gun at your head, Malcolm.” Gil's voice was firm and calm. The smacks accompanied his words, emphasising them. “I don't care if you think it's loaded or not. You don't do _anything_ that will put yourself in danger.”

Malcolm didn't know if Gil was smacking harder, or if his bottom was getting more sensitive, but the swats felt more painful. He was letting out tiny hisses and whines each time Gil's hand landed; whimpering when his mentor swatted his sit spots or the tops of his thighs. “I...I didn't mean to!” His voice was strained.

“That makes it worse, kid.” As he spoke, Gil yanked down the briefs, removing the last layer of protection between his hand and Malcolm's bottom.

The swats to bare skin had Malcolm kicking his legs. Tears filled his eyes and he choked on a sob. “I'm sorry!” His voice was high-pitched and shaky, showing how close to tears he truly was. “I know...you don't want me to do dangerous, stupid things. I'm not...I'm not trying to, I swear.” He drew in a deep, shaky breath and pressed his face into the couch cushion, trying to stave off tears.

“I love you, kid.” Gil's voice was low, but filled with emotion.

Malcolm froze, tears beginning to run down his cheeks at the words. “You do?” he whispered, voice laced with hope.

“Why do you think I wanted you on the team?” Gil asked. “Yeah, you're good at what you do. One of the best profilers I've ever seen. But I want you on the team because, as far as I'm concerned, you might as well be my kid. My son. I love you that much.”

His whole body had remained tense throughout the whole speech, but with the last words, he slumped over Gil's lap. The tears came hot and heavy as he began to sob.

Gil squeezed his hands and then pulled Malcom's briefs and pants back into place. He helped Malcolm up and then wrapped his arms tightly around him.

Malcolm hugged back tightly, almost fiercely, clinging to Gil. The hug was warm. It felt good. He sniffled quietly and let his head drop gently against Gil's shoulder. “I love you too.” His voice sounded very small and young. Like being spanked and then cuddled had pushed him into the mindset of a smaller child.

Gil's hand rubbed comfortingly down Malcolm's back, easing out knots of tension wherever he touched. “I'll put you to bed, son,” he murmured.

Malcolm pulled back enough to look into Gil's eyes and gave him a watery smile. “Tuck me in?”

“Come on, kid.” Gil wrapped his arm around Malcolm's shoulders and guided him towards the bed, helping him to lay down.

Malcolm watched as the other man put him in the restraints and then grinned as Gil sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand. “You'll wake me as soon as you hear anything?”

“Of course, son.” Gil squeezed his hand. “Time to sleep now, though, kid.”

“Okay.” Malcolm closed his eyes and was asleep within moments.

**The End**


End file.
